A piercing scream flooded the room, whimpers of agony on either side.
Trip was dazed, enough so that he couldn't think coherently, but not enough to stop the blinding pain scorching through him. Like a thousand knives slicing his skin, and the heat, one second it was freezing, the next, blazing hot, like being lit on fire.
And through everything was the terrifying, blood boiling, panicked confusion that ran amuck through his mind. He couldn't tell what was causing him such pain, he was in an open area, there weren't any visible knives, so what was happening? His primal nature, as such he had been reduced to, was searching for the threat with as much obsession as he could muster against the invisible perpetrators.
"What is your mission in this space?" the sharp voice cut through his clouded thoughts, bringing with it the clarity of hell.
"Gotahullyoubaresters" he mumbled, voice low, eyes shut tight as if trying to shield himself from the reality he knew would be waiting for him.
The voice came back, sounding more irritated, and maybe a little desperate? Trip's subconscious understood that, and his mind was flooded with new resolve, and joy, if it could be called such in his current situation.
"What are your orders!?"
His eyes opened, squinting through the blinding light that separated him from his captor. Speaking slowly, deliberately, "Go. To. Hell. You Bastard."
Trip's only warning was a vicious snarl, before a blue hand turned the dial, not stopping as his screams intensified…
Tallas's Perspective:
The human had yet to reveal any information. She had to give him credit, two hours with the device was enough to break a Vulcan. Granted, he probably was broken, just not to the point where his tongue loosened up. The "device" as it had been dubbed, was essentially a neuro-scambler, they had gotten the idea after learning about Vulcan neuro-pressure. It did the exact opposite of the procedure that had inspired it, destabilizing the brains functions even to the point where suggestions could be implanted, such as heat or extreme pain.
Either these humans were absurdly tough, or she was just losing her touch, and the latter was seriously doubted.
Tallas was on her way to what was left of the brig, having left the human a few moments ago. She figured she'd give him enough time to regain his motor control, and then let him dwell on its future absence.
But right now, her orders from the new Captain were quite explicit, it was a pity, she had always liked Shran…
Tarah's Perspective:
The humans had yet to bargain for their Captain's life, they hadn't even attempted to hail them, and Tarah was just beginning to question her alleged patriotism. Perhaps these humans really were barbarians, willing enough to the grasp the power when fortune slipped in their favor. Snorting, it crossed her mind that she had basically done the same thing, but with one major difference, Andorians took what they wanted, not waiting for someone else to do their dirty work like cowards.
However, regardless of their apparent faults, the pinkskins did have the upper hand in terms of tech, and that, she didn't want to mess with. Person to person, she wouldn't hesitate to prove how evolved Andorian physiology truly was. But in that ship, in the Enterprise, they were in charge.
It was time to rethink their strategy…